Page 75 of Death of the Author
Amarachi nodded. “They’re his brothers.”
“He always wanted some of his wealth to be at home, though,” Tolu whispered.
“Fuck the patriarchy,” Amarachi hissed. She quickly looked at their mother, but Omoshalewa was just staring blankly out the kitchen window. Her eyes were not so wild anymore; now they looked lost. “Why keep wealth in a place that’s broken? Even when it is home.”
“The US isn’t much better,” Tolu pointed out.
“Easy for you to say, ‘only son,’” Amarachi shot back. “At least I don’t have to worry aboutthiskind of crap. At least here, my genitals aren’t a hindrance when—”
“Can we focus?” Zelu interjected. They all looked at her as if just noticing she’d arrived. “There’s a lot happening. But one thing at a time, right? Where...” She inhaled, her eyes welling up again. The pain of their father’s passing and the culture clash mixed together into a hot, burning ache. “Where... where are we going to bury Dad?” She shuddered, stumbling. “Dad...”
Chinyere rushed and caught her before she could fall. Amarachi held her shoulders. The holding became a tight hug from them both. She held them, too. Their mother started keening and they grabbed and held her, too. Zelu shut her eyes, but for once, she did not go to space. She heard the breathing, sobs, and soft words. She smelled the spice that always clung to her mother’s skin, Tolu’s sandalwood-scented oil, Amarachi’s jasmine perfume, Bola’s bath soap, Uzo’s baby powder. She felt Chinyere’s long nails pressing her arm gently, keeping her here. She couldn’t fall if she tried.
33
Wake-Keeping
It was snowing heavily. A true Chicago blizzard—blustery, aggressive, and cold. It began just as they arrived at the funeral home. Zelu grasped Msizi’s arm as they walked through the doors, not because she was having difficulty with her balance but because she knew what was in there. Her father’s body. Dead. She had not seen him since that day in the hospital two weeks ago. She paused just under the threshold, the snow falling around them, coating her black-and-gray Ankara coat.
“Wait,” she said. “I can’t.”
Up ahead, Tolu and his wife had just entered and were moving down the hallway. In the parking lot, she had spotted cars that belonged to Amarachi, Shawn, and Uzo. She was probably the last sibling to arrive. “I don’t want to go in there, Msizi. I can’t go in there. I can’t, I can’t...” She couldn’t tell if her eyes were filling with tears or if snowflakes were melting on her eyelashes.
Msizi moved closer to Zelu, pressing the warmth of his body against her side. Her shoulders hunched as she sobbed. “I don’t want it to be over.” She coughed, the shudder of it shaking the snow from her coat. “What am I without my father?”
For the past two weeks, Zelu had avoided thinking about this moment as much as she could. Chinyere and Arinze had taken the helm arranging things. “Just show up” was all Chinyere had told her to do. Now Zelu wasn’t even sure she could dothat.
“You are of him,” Msizi whispered softly into her hair. “You literallycan’tbe without him.” Another sob racked her body, and Msizi held her tighter. “We are mortal beings. We die. But we live first. And your father left a great legacy.”
She grasped his hand tightly. He squeezed hers back even harder, and it felt good. They started walking again. And they didn’t stop until she was in the lobby, which was packed with people who loved her father. They could barely fit inside. She recognized many faces; her father had had many friends, and a lot of them had shown up today. Colleagues from the mechanical services company he’d worked at as head engineer for thirty years before retiring. People from the Igbo and Yoruba communities in Chicago. People from the Pan-Africanist organization. People from his church, including the priest. People he’d met and chatted with in the supermarket every week. Engineers he’d been helped by and whom he’d helped.
“My condolences.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Your father changed my life.”
“It’s so good to see you.”
“He was a great man.”
Hugs upon hugs. Sympathetic eyes. Weary stares at her exos. The viewing room wasn’t open yet, so they had to mingle a bit. Msizi was getting his ear talked off by a large woman with a giant curly black wig when Bola appeared beside Zelu. “There you are.” She grabbed Zelu’s arm to pull her along. “We’re in the back.”
Zelu snatched her arm away. She couldn’t balance well when people pulled at her like that.
“Sorry,” Bola said. “But come on.”
She glanced at Msizi, who was still talking to the woman.
“He’ll be fine,” Bola insisted. “Come on.”
They walked down a hallway with plush red carpeting and old-timey gold-foiled wallpaper. This place had a posh Victorian style that Zelu kind of liked. She looked up at the crystal chandeliers and imagined they’d make tinkling sounds if an old spirit whooshed through.
“What took you so long?” Bola asked.
Zelu bristled. “I’ve been here. Just got caught in the lobby.”
Bola opened a door. A comforting wave of warm air washed over them as they moved inside. This room was small, with vintage-looking armchairs facing each other on top of a richly painted silk rug. In the corner, a fireplace was crackling, casting a calm orange glow across the space. All her siblings and her mother were in here, dressed in black. They looked up as she entered, except for her mother, who was sitting on the floor with her sister, Constance, warming her hands in front of the fire.
